


They Say Times Supposed to Heal You....

by zarrents



Series: Song Fics [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-04-27 20:40:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5063338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zarrents/pseuds/zarrents
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's supposed to get easier...<br/>But for Harry, it never does. </p><p>based on "Hello" by Adele</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

December, 2015:

"Hey...it's me," Harry recites into his phone. It feels like routine, leaving the same message on Zayn's voicemail time and time again. He thought that they'd sorted everything out. He thought he could call, anytime before 5 just like Zayn said, and get a proper response. But for months on end, he's received nothing but the automated voice on the end telling him what he already knows: Zayn isn't going to pick up. No matter how defeated he feels, he tries just as hard every time. "Thought maybe you'd want to meet up, yeah? It's been a couple months since the tour's ended and I know you haven't got anything too time-consuming going on, now that you've finished recording. Anyway, just figured you'd like to have a chat, maybe some lunch, something. Give me a call back, yeah? Alright well, talk to you later I hope. Love you, bye." He hangs up, with a sinking feeling, knowing somehow that he's not getting the call back he desperately needs. 

Harry knows he should stop, he knows he should give up any hope he has, but he doesn't. He calls weekly, sometimes more often that that, praying that he'll get an actual voice instead of a machine-generated message designed to cause disappointment and heartbreak. His messages are usually short but he always finds time to reminisce about how things "used to be." He constantly asks Zayn about how he is or if he wants to catch up, knowing all too well that there'll be no answer given. If it were up to Harry, he'd leave countless messages, each one more heartfelt and sentimental than the last. He wants to tell Zayn how he's been feeling these past months: confused, alone, lost, hopeless, empty. But he can't do that. He can't tell him these things over voicemail. He needs to hear Zayn's voice, he needs to hear him say that he's been the exact same way. Until then, his 30 second voice messages are a good enough substitute. 

March, 2016: 

"Hey...it's me. You most likely already knew that but it's kind of nice to keep a theme going you know? " Harry tries to joke around with no one but himself. It's a lot more satisfying than he thought, knowing that someone's listening. Even if the "someone" is himself. "How've you been? Haven't talked to you in a while. I was just thinking back to before we took off; the X-factor days. We were such a wild lot, I don't know how anyone could've put us through. We were inseparable, me and you. Never did anything without each other." Thinking about it has Harry tearing up, knowing that they'll never be the same dynamic duo that they were. The gap between them feels impossible to close. Harry feels his throat tighten up and cuts his message short with a quick and short "Sorry, I've gotta go. Love you," before letting his pent up emotions pour out in streams from his eyes. 

Harry lets his message get more sentimental this time. He can't help but reminisce when it's been a year since Zayn quit the band. Thinking about everything that led up to that moment in time produces more pain than happiness. He thinks about how torn up he is about it, tears falling down his face without pause, compared to Zayn, so unbothered he doesn't even have time to talk to his best friend of five years. He hasn't cried over Zayn in a while, tried to block out the pain by pretending they never fell apart. For him, calling Zayn feels like home; feels like 4 years ago when the world was theirs. That's why he does it, to go back in time to when they had it all. He'll leave a thousand messages if he has to, if it means he can feel close to Zayn again. 

August, 2016: 

"Hey Zayn, it's Harry. I guess by now I should come to terms with the fact that you're not going to call, but I like to leave messages just in case. I do still care about you, even if you don't feel the same." His eyes begin to water again but he holds it in, not wanting to get emotional over the phone again. "Anyway, I heard that you moved back to London. How is it over there? Bet it's nice, a lot cooler than California, yeah? I was a bit upset you didn't tell me yourself. Had to read it in some magazine. I get it though...you want to keep your distance. Plenty of that, now that you're thousands of miles away," he doesn't mean to sound as pitiful as he does. But just imagining how far away they are from each other makes Harry's chest feel heavy. "Well, call me when you get the chance, let me know how you're doing. Bye, I love you." 

It's been over a year since Zayn stopped answering, and Harry still has no idea why. He has no clue what he did, or what he said, to make Zayn turn cold like this. He knew they were drifting apart, but he thought he could fix it somehow. He was wrong of course, spending his time having one sided conversations to Zayn's answering machine. He wonders if Zayn even has the same number, if he's been calling no one this whole time. That possibility gives him a small amount of hope; knowing that Zayn might not be calling back because he's not getting his calls. He holds onto that, praying that one day Zayn'll call him up, tell him that he's got a new number and that Harry can call him anytime.For now, he puts his phone down and goes to sleep, dreams filled with memories of him and Zayn, how they used to be.

January, 2017:

"Hey, it's Harry. Been missing you a lot lately. I've written some songs, don't know what to do with them though. Thought maybe you'd want to hear them, see if you like 'em at least. Most of them are about you though' it'd be a bit weird singing a song written about yourself, yeah? Dunno, I still want you to have a listen. You used to always listen to what a wrote; made me feel good to know someone liked it. Sorry, I keep talking about myself, but how are you? How's your family? Was it a white Christmas this year? I know how much you love to see snow on Christmas morning... Um, just give me a call back I guess, if you're up for it. Alright, love you. Bye." 

Harry usually doesn't ask so many questions, but he's desperate. He's dying for Zayn to call him back, tell him about his Christmas back home, tell him about what extravagantly perfect presents he got for his sisters this year. He wants to know if his mother's cooking is as perfect as it always is. He wants to know every detail about Zayn's life, but he's not even given a glimpse into it. He wants nothing more than to hear Zayn's voice again, even just for a few minutes. It feels like its been decades since they've had a proper conversation and it's killing him. The songs he's written are nothing more than an outpour of sadness and love, scribbled inside his journal with tears spotting a few of the pages. He needs to stop calling. All it does is make him worse than he already is. 

July, 2018:

"Hey, Zayn. By now, you know it's me calling, so I guess I don't have to say that anymore. Listen, I'm not gonna ask how you are, because I know you won't answer. I'm not gonna suggest we meet and chat, because you clearly aren't too keen on that idea. I'm calling to say that I'm done calling. I hate that day in and day out I think of you, how you are, what you're doing. I'm tired of spending all of my time thinking of you, when you probably don't even give me a passing thought. I can't spend all of my time hoping that you'll call or text or even acknowledge that I exist. At least I've tried to fix whatever happened to us. You've just sat around, acting like nothing ever happened," Harry can't even control what he's saying at this point. Everything he's ever wanted to tell Zayn, he's saying it now. While he feels some sort of relief, it hurts to know that this is the end. "I love you, I know I say that at the end of every message, but it's true. I never stopped and I probably never will. I hope you know that. Goodbye, Zayn." 

With that he hangs up and drops his phone onto the couch he's sitting on. He never thought he would end it, he never thought he'd have the strength to. He intends to delete Zayn's number at some point, but right now he doesn't have the heart to pick his phone back up. There's still a small part of him that thinks Zayn might call him, tell him everything's okay. But the larger part of him knows that it's over, whatever relationship or friendship they had. He wishes it didn't have to be, but it looks like Zayn made the decision for him. He needs some time to himself. He shuts his phone off and goes for a walk. The air helps him clear his head, gather his thoughts. Everything still reminds him of Zayn, the flowers, the clouds, the graffiti on the walls of abandoned buildings. Even so, Harry's decided that if it doesn't matter to Zayn, it shouldn't matter to him. He's over it.

July, 2018:

Zayn unlocks his phone to see a new voicemail message. He knows exactly who it's from and , after a few minutes of thinking, decides to listen. He hears Harry's low, raspy voice fill his ears. It puts him at ease until he hears what's being said. "you probably don't even give me a passing thought." That's not true. Zayn thinks of him everyday. His heart beats faster as the message goes on. Tears form in his eyes as he listens to Harry tell him how much he cares about him. He knows it's cruel of him not to call back, he's known it for years. But he assumed that if he ever picked up, Harry would stop calling. He's listened to every voicemail Harry's ever left, loving they way he'd ask about Zayn, his family, his music, his dogs. He loved feeling so wanted by Harry. He never thought Harry would ever stop. He never wanted him to. 

With bloodshot eyes, he replays the message over and over again, trying to savor it because it's the last one he's gonna get. He doesn't know what he's feeling right now, but he wishes it would go away. He wishes he could go back in time, to the day he last talked to Harry. That must've been years ago. Zayn hates himself for abandoning Harry, he'd do anything to make up for all the lost time. But he knows he can't. He knows Harry's reached his limit. He can't do anything to change that, but he has to let Harry knows he loves him. He saves the voice message to his phone, and dials the number he's known by heart for the past eight years. Harry's. He doesn't know what to expect. He doesn't know if Harry'll be happy, upset, outraged, or anything else. He doesn't find out either. The call goes to voicemail after a series of rings. 

"Hello?...It's me."


	2. Chapter 2

July, 2018:

“Hello?...It’s me” Zayn starts, almost mimicking the introduction he’d become so used to hearing come from Harry’s mouth in these past years. He hadn’t planned out anything he was going to say, he didn’t even know where to start, but he’d already started recording his message, so he’s got to go through with it. “Been a while since we talked, yeah? ‘Course that’s my fault though, guess I’m just shit at returning phone calls.” He can’t even bring himself to laugh at the joke he knows Harry won’t laugh at either. “M’sorry Haz. I don’t know if you believe me or not but I really am. I’ve heard every single one of your messages and I know that only makes it sound worse but, fuck, I miss you. I don’t expect you to forgive me or call me back because I don’t deserve either of those thing but I just want, no I need you to know that I love you, alright? I never stopped and I never will.”

The recording cuts him off before he can even get out a proper goodbye. It’s probably for the best, Zayn thinks, saying bye would’ve made it sound like it was over, like they’d never speak again. They might not; Harry might not want anything to do with Zayn after how he’d treated him. Even if Harry did call, did want to talk things out and try to make it work, Zayn couldn’t. He couldn’t, in good conscience, go about acting like he hadn’t left Harry, hurting him so badly that he’d resorted to having one-way conversations with an answering machine. All he wants is for Harry to know that he didn’t forget about him, he’d thought about him everyday since he left, picked up his phone and dialed Harry’s number countless times, but never pressing “call.”

He sets his phone on his thigh, face up and unlocked, not wanting to take the chance of missing a call from Harry, if he was ever going to get one. He thinks back to all of the messages Harry’s left, the messages he’s still got saved on his phone, the ones he had transferred from his old phone to the new one, making sure to keep the same number for Harry’s sake. He thinks about all the times he could’ve picked up, let him know he was fine and yeah he’d go out to lunch with him when he’s taking a break from the studio. But instead he’d driven Harry away, letting all of his questions remain unanswered and his sentiments of love remain unreturned. He stays like that for hours, letting his phone battery drain without him so much as touching it, waiting for the phone call that might never come in. 

Harry doesn't know how long he's been walking for but he feels calm enough now to go back home and return to the song he'd been writing before his emotional outburst over the phone. He makes his way back slowly,the warm wind blowing and the sun setting just as he reaches his front door. He carelessly kicks his shoes and socks off as soon as he's inside, letting his now sore feet breathe. He plops down on the couch, picking his worn out journal up from where he'd had it lying open and face down on the cushion. As he re-reads the words he's already written on the page, trying to see how he should continue, he powers his phone back on, curious to see if Niall, Liam, or anyone had tried to get ahold of him while he was gone. He waits a couple minutes, the apple insignia staying on his screen before transitioning to the picture of the boys he'd set as his phone background ages ago and never had the heart to change. The notifications come in one by one, some from Instagram, some from Twitter, a couple of texts from people he'd get back to later and, most recently, a voicemail. 

He stares blankly at the voicemail notification until his screen darkens again, leaving him to wonder if what he just saw was all in his mind. When he taps his home button, though, the alert is still there, "Zayn" and directly under it "Voicemail." He can't open it, he doesn't want to hear what Zayn has to say to him; he doesn't want to hear Zayn begging for his forgiveness, saying how sorry he is just because Harry's finally done fawning over him. Harry knows that, no matter how pissed he is at Zayn, he'll forgive him anyway, he'll go right back to loving him just as much as he did before and he can't do that, not right now at least. So he doesn't listen, but he doesn't delete the message either; maybe one day he'll be okay enough to hear Zayn's voice without falling for him all over again. In the meantime, he picks up one of his many pens and flips to a new page in his small, brown book, the song he was previously working on set aside for now. He writes his current array of emotions in the form of lyrics, or a poem maybe; it doesn't matter really, it's for his eyes only, the words too meaningful for him to sell to another artist for radio air-time. 

August, 2018:

Weeks go by and Harry still hasn't listened to the message Zayn left for him, he's too afraid of what it might say and how he'll react to it. He almost feels bad just blatantly ignoring him like this, but as he thinks back to the three years he wasted on Zayn, the guilts starts to subside. He's curious though, about what Zayn has to say after he's spent so much time adamantly ignoring Harry. Is it an apology? Does he even acknowledge the fact that Harry's been pining after him all this time? Is he calling to ask for songwriting help? The possibilities of what the voicemail could say cloud Harry's thoughts, leaving him confused and mentally drained. More than anything, he's afraid; of what, he's not sure. What if it's not what he'd hoped for? For all he knows Zayn could've called him on accident, or called to tell him that he's ecstatic that Harry's finally done harassing him. He doesn't _know_ and that's the worst part of this whole situation. Of course there'd been days where Harry would go into his phone app and let his thumb hover over the "play" button, but he was never prepared to hear what would be said when he clicked it. 

October, 2018:

Weeks turn into months and Zayn is sleep-deprived, always waking up in the middle of the night with a sinking feeling in his stomach, knowing that Harry's probably heard his message and has no intention of calling back. Of course he'd made it clear to Harry that he wasn't expecting a returned call but it still hurt, not getting any response at all. The feeling he has deepens when he realizes that this is what Harry went through for years, telling someone how much you love them, how badly you miss them, and getting nothing back. He's talked to Liam, asked him what he thinks he should do now, what he thinks Harry would want. Liam shrugged, not wanting to be in the middle of Zayn and Harry's problems, "Can't really say, mate. He's been heartbroken since you left, only got worse when you cut him off." Zayn feels his chest tighten at that, he hates that he made Harry feel like that, _heartbroken._ Liam eventually just advises Zayn to give Harry some time, and that confuses Zayn more than anything else because thats all he's been giving Harry is time, but two months is nothing compared to 36. 

Two months have passed before Harry decides to listen to the message that's been sitting in his voicemail box for what seems like forever. He's on his way home from Liam's LA house, he's visited him quite a bit since he gave in and bought a house in California. They live about 45 minutes away from each other, providing Harry with enough time to listen to and process what Zayn has to say. Before he pulls out of Liam's driveway he puts an earbud in his right ear, just so he wouldn't have to hold his phone while driving. It isn't until he gets to a stoplight about twenty-five minutes away from his own house that he decides to press play, finally mentally prepared to hear Zayn's voice for the first time in a while. "Hello?" The accent that Harry'd gotten so used to fills his ears, already bringing tears to his eyes. All of the anger he felt towards Zayn is temporarily forgotten about, and replaced with love, fondness, sympathy even as he hears Zayn holding back his sobs as he says, hardly above a whisper "I miss you." The message ends too soon and Harry wants to pay it over and over again, but more than anything he just wants to talk to Zayn. He still has too many questions to ask and he doesn't know if he can go any longer without the answers. He holds his home button until Siri's robotic voice comes through his earbud, asking what she can help with. "Call Zayn."

Zayn's woken up by the sound of his phone ringing loudly by his ear. Ever since he left the voicemail for Harry, he's had his ringer on at all times and never slept without his phone by his side. He rubs his eye with his left hand while picking his phone up with the other, still not fully awake despite it being two in the afternoon. As soon as he sees who it is calling, he wakes up faster than he ever has, sitting up straight and blinking quickly before swiping right to answer. "Hello" he says louder than he means to, letting his eagerness get the better of him. The line is quiet for a bit but he knows Harry's there, he can hear the soft music coming from the radio and his slightly erratic breathing close to the headphone mic. He waits for a bit, not knowing if he should give Harry a minute to collect his thoughts or if he should keep speaking to break the awkward tension that's built up in the span of a few seconds. Just as he opens his mouth to apologize again, Harry mutters something under his breath that Zayn can't make out. "What's that?" More silence ensues, but only lasts for a moment before Harry repeats, louder this time, "Why'd you do it?" He doesn't even give Zayn a second to answer before he keeps going.

"Why did you never answer my calls? Just wanted to see how long I'd keep it up? How long you could string me along and have a laugh at all of the things I said to you? I missed you so much Zayn, all I wanted to do was hear your voice, see you again maybe, but you didn't want that did you?" Zayn can hear the anger building in Harry's voice, he wants to tell him that he's wrong,that he did want that, but Harry starts up again, his voice becoming strained. "You just sat around and listened to every message i sent you, 'bout 150 of them, yeah? You listened to every last one, you heard me talk about the songs I'd written for you, all the things that reminded me of you when I'd go out, all the times I'd cry over the phone because you'd never fucking answer. You heard all of that and never once thought to call me back, ask how I'm doing." Zayn can hear his voice getting watery now and knows he's crying, but still doesn't want to interrupt. 

"So you don't get to just say 'I love you' in a voicemail message and think that's enough because it's not." He finally finishes, his voice much louder than when he began his outburst. His knuckles are white from gripping the wheel so tight and his vision is becoming increasingly blurrier as the tears build up in his eyes and slowly slide down his cheeks. "I know." Zayn starts, then pauses, trying to figure out in his head what he wants to say so he doesn't screw things up again. "I know it's not enough Harry, alright? I just-I didn't know what to do, I loved hearing all the messages you left and I thought that if I didn't answer, you'd keep sending them. I know that was... stupid and selfish and I'm sorry. I don't know how many times I have to say that before you believe me, but I really am. And I do love you, yeah? Didn't just say that to get you to call me, I mean it, Haz." He stops there, he doesn't know what else to say; he's not good with words like Harry is, he needs to see him, to hold him. "I know I'm about two years late on this but can we go to lunch? Catch up? If you're still interested, I mean. I'm in LA for a few weeks, recording so I've got some time." 

Harry takes one hand off the wheel and runs it through his hair, weighing his options. Of course he was still interested, he wanted nothing more than to sit at some hole in the wall restaurant and talk about what they'd both been up to since Zayn left. On the other hand, how is he supposed to forgive him that easily? How is he supposed to overlook the fact that all this time Zayn could've called, texted, _anything_ but he chose not to. He closes his eyes for a couple of seconds, exhaling heavily before answering. "I-"

Zayn has to move his phone away from his ear, the blaring horn sound making his ears ring. "Hello?" He doesn't hear the soft sound of music, Harry's slow inhales and exhales, the sound of air being forced through the window Harry's barely rolled down, he doesn't hear anything. "Haz, you there?" Still not hearing anything, Zayn hangs up, figuring Harry had to focus on driving, he never uses his horn. He's a bit upset that he didn't get an answer from Harry, but that five minute phone call was enough for him to relax for now. He lays back down in bed, phone in hand, waiting for Harry to call him back once he's home and can, hopefully, accept Zayn's offer. Of course, he falls back asleep rather quickly, having nothing else to do with his day. He gets a couple more hours of sleep in, his phone waking him up for the second time that day. This time though, it's Liam, which confuses Zayn for a moment because Liam hates calling, he always texts unless it's something he has to talk about right then and there. He answers after a few seconds, yawning out a "Hello?" Liam's breathing heavily on the other end, like he's been working out or running, "Zayn, how fast can you get to the Cedars-Sinai Medical Center?" He manages to say in between labored breath. Zayn gets up slowly, walking over to his desk to look it up on Google Maps. "'Round twenty minutes, why?" Zayn's eyebrows furrow, not sure why Liam would ask him about a hospital unless it had something to do with the boys. "Meet me there as soon as possible, yeah?" He doesn't wait for an answer, leaving a slightly worried Zayn on the other end. 

Zayn throws a t shirt on quickly over his sweatpants before heading downstairs and grabbing his keys. He lets his phone GPS guide him through the streets, since he's not very familiar with the area, and makes it to the hospital in a little under twenty minutes. He's not sure where he's meant to go or who he's looking for so he just tells the receptionist Liam's name and she tells him to take the elevator to the third floor. He's still confused as to what he's doing here but his heart is pounding in his chest, expecting the worst. The elevator takes what feels like hours to reach the third floor, but as the doors slide open, he sees Liam pacing the waiting room, facing the floor but Zayn sees the red in his face. As soon as their eyes meet, Zayn's heart plummets, he doesn't want to know, he's tempted to run back into the elevator but the doors are already closing. 

The words "Harry's gone," "we did all we could," and "dead on arrival" feel like cinderblocks in Zayn's stomach as they fall from the doctor's mouth. He can't move, he can't bring himself to say anything, he can barely think, replaying the phone call he and harry just had mere hours before. He doesn't stay long, walking away while Liam's saying something he can't focus on right now. It feels like he's on autopilot, going back down to the lobby, walking past the receptionist who cheerily tells him to "have a nice evening," getting back into his car and letting the GPS tell him how to get back home. He barely makes it inside, locking the door before sitting on the couch and finally breaking down. All the tears he'd been holding in pour out uncontrollably as he thinks about everything: the messages, the phone call, the way Harry's voice was raw and tired sounding but still the most beautiful thing Zayn's ever heard, the sound of the car horn blasting through his phones small speaker before the line went silent. He cries for hours, wanting this to be a nightmare, one so real that it shakes him out of his sleep in a cold sweat, tears dotting his eyes. But it's real, Harry's not here anymore, and the last time he heard his voice was through a shitty phone speaker when Zayn wasn't even awake enough to savor the moment. 

February, 2019:

"Hey, it's me. That's what you always used to say, innit? I don't know why I'm calling really, seems a bit pointless I guess, but I want to make up for lost time. Probably a bit late for that, but you did the same thing for me, left me about 150 messages, if I remember correctly. Just wanted to say happy birthday, I know you would've been sad to be 25, y'always said it was the weird "not early twenties, but not late twenties either" age. I'd always laugh at you, I'd laugh at you now if you were here to laugh too." Zayn lets the tears run freely now, no point in trying to keep a steady voice now that no one's actually here to listen. "I miss you, Haz. Don't know if I'll ever stop, even on tour I'd always miss you even if I'd just seen you twenty minutes ago. It's kind of weird, talking to you, knowing you won't call back. It helps though, makes it seem like you're still here I guess. Anyway, I love you Harry. I always have and I always will. I don't know if you believe me yet but I've got 149 more messages to prove it. Goodbye."


End file.
